And he is uncommonly well
turned out; quite the sort of figure that pleases the ladies. But I
don't think I like him." The Doctor, however, kept his reflexions to
himself, and talked to his visitors about foreign lands, concerning
which Morris offered him more information than he was ready, as he
mentally phrased it, to swallow. Dr. Sloper had travelled but
little, and he took the liberty of not believing everything this
anecdotical idler narrated. He prided himself on being something of
a physiognomist, and while the young man, chatting with easy
assurance, puffed his cigar and filled his glass again, the Doctor
sat with his eyes quietly fixed on his bright, expressive face. "He
has the assurance of the devil himself," said Morris's host; "I don't
think I ever saw such assurance. And his powers of invention are
most remarkable. He is very knowing; they were not so knowing as
that in my time. And a good head, did I say? I should think so--
after a bottle of Madeira and a bottle and a half of claret!"
After dinner Morris Townsend went and stood before Catherine, who was
standing before the fire in her red satin gown.
"He doesn't like me--he doesn't like me at all!" said the young man.
"Who doesn't like you?" asked Catherine.
"Your father; extraordinary man!"
"I don't see how you know," said Catherine, blushing.
"I feel; I am very quick to feel."
"Perhaps you are mistaken.
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